


Windowsill Spider

by simsical (serene_night)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Arachnophobia, I can't do that to myself, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, Spiders, There's not 'graphic' description of spiders here, he doesnt get one but he needs one, thats it thats the fic, the web thinks its haha funny to watch jon hyperventilate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serene_night/pseuds/simsical
Summary: There's a spider on Jon's windowsill.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	Windowsill Spider

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in literally 45 minutes and posted (not really) almost immediately so no one is allowed to hold me accountable for the quality. The very last section? Not on me!  
> Big ups to everyone who comments on this <333

There’s a spider on his windowsill. He doesn’t know quite when it got there but he knows it’s hasn’t moved for at least half an hour. He knows this because he hasn’t either. 

Between the walls of muted panic in his head, Jon instinctively Knows ( _how does he know that- why does he know that?_ ) that the spider is not sleeping. It’s merely resting, waiting.  He thinks that, if he did not have such a deep and intense fear of the things, he’d find them to be unbearably interesting. Maybe even kind of- cool. 

But instead he is sitting in a too cold room, blankets piled around his back and shoulders ( _the heavier they are, the less likely it is he’ll feel the phantom crawling of a not-there arachnid_ ), glancing up and down and left and right ( _checking and checking and checking because if he doesn’t check then he won’t know and what if what if what if-_ ) before re-settling on the spider on his windowsill. 

Jon doesn’t want to blink, doesn’t want to not be able to see the thing he fears the most so he keeps his eyes open for as long as possible and blinks as quick as he can only when he needs to-something that proves to be counterproductive when his eyes begin to sting and fill with tears and he’s forced to close them and open them and close them again in quick succession to remove the water; when his eyesight clears, he is no longer looking at the spider and begins to feel the panic rising and screaming and pushing- 

Until he finds it, again, unmoved-though he can’t quite be sure-and he feels an overwhelming rush of relief and pure, utter fear ( _if it was gone he wouldn’t have to look anymore, wouldn’t have to see but to not know where it was would leave only a dull sense of constant paranoia blanketing everything_ ) and he thinks, between the gasping and heaving and the shuddering, that if this is the price he has to pay to stay on this Earth then maybe Earth isn’t worth paying for.

He thinks of all the times he’s been in this exact situation before, scared and alone and helpless-

He thinks of being 25, 22, 21, 19, 18, 16, 14, 13-he thinks of a life living in fear of such small creatures, such common creatures-

He thinks of being 8 and- ( _he stops thinking so hard_.)

His feet are getting cold, and he’s stopped hyperventilating, so Jon takes a moment to carefully drape a blanket over them ( _only one, carefully placed, not tucked, merely resting_ ) before taking a moment to check the time. 3:34. He raises his gaze back to the spider and waits. 

There’s a spider on his windowsill, until there isn’t. Jon watches it scuttle onto the windowpane, and out of the open window. He’s hesitant, silent as he stands, blankets sliding down his shoulders as he crosses his room, waits, and yanks the window shut as hard and fast as he can. His breathing is picking up again, panic and anxiety curling their fingers ( _long, point, invasive_ ) and prying their way into the forefront of his mind. He shuffles back, keeps shuffling until he hits his wall and is able to fall into his abandoned pile of blankets, desperaty seeking comfort. This time, they are wrapped around his entire body as he heaves, his eyes dancing around the room, now unrestrained, ( _checking and checking and checking and checking_ ) and he does not sleep for fear of it returning, does not move. 

* * *

There is a spider on a windowsill, watching a young man. The spider has been told to watch this young man and so the spider does, scuttling up the brick wall of a house and smooth glass of a window and wood of said window's sill before it stops. The spider watches as the young man enters the room and as he trembles upon seeing it. There is something enticing in the way he quietly whines and the spider thinks the man might be scared of him. The spider doesn't mind. It watches and it waits and it doesn't move but even so the young man is drowning. The spider does not know why, it has no reason to. The spider is only there to feed the hand that commands it. And when the hand moves, the spider follows, leaving the young man, hiccuping, shaking, alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> based on - couple weeks ago there was a small cluster of money spiders on the top window frame of my window and instead of doing anything i sat underneath my bed and cried/hyperventilated on and off until my mum got rid of them in the morning


End file.
